


Lost and Found

by oomikram



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Beware, F/M, Sad, angela is only mentioned, forgive me please, i can't, i can't write kissing??????, i don't think I implied a gender for the reader??? but i might have so im tagging it with f/m, i kind of hate this but whatever, tbh i listened to close every door to me the entire time i wrote this, this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oomikram/pseuds/oomikram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You had found Jack Morrison, and you swore to never lose him again.</p><p>But you were losing him now, clinging to hospital bedside as you sobbed into the white sheets. </p><p>(alternative title: hi my name is cass and i like italics)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost and Found

   You missed the hungry, raging fire that once burned in his bright blue eyes. You longed to once again see that fire, the fire that was now reduced to a weak and subdued flame. Though you could no longer see them burn, you could always feel their warmth. No longer powerful and intense, but comforting and inviting. He’d changed a lot. When he was younger, he was less bitter and cold, less irritable and perpetually agitated. He was different now: mentally, emotionally, and physically.  
  
   Mentally, he’d become smarter, wiser. He was more responsible and mature, more practical and logical. When Jack Morrison died, his longing for _fun_ had apparently died with him. Soldier 76 was all business, and wasn’t one to fool around.  All work and no play had made Jack a dull boy, and he’d lost his signature free spirit somewhere along the road. You always hoped he would find it again one day.  
  
   Emotionally, he’d hardened. No longer the mighty, inspiring commander, but a tough soldier. You could see why, of course. He’d lost so much. He’d become a watered down version of himself, the _shell_ of a man that once was. You can remember him once telling you the old him was dead, that the posterboy of Overwatch was _gone_ with the explosion of the Swiss base. Jack Morrison was dead, to him.

   Jack Morrison, to you, however, was very much alive. On the outside, he was Soldier 76. He was a gruff, proud, short-tempered vigilante with a subconscious and instinctive good will, a righteousness he couldn’t let go of. On the inside, deep down, hid Jack Morrison. Born in Indiana, a farmer boy with a heart of gold that left his family of farmers to make a difference, to fight for a cause he believed in. Jack Morrison gave it his all, poured his heart and soul into everything he did. 

   The humble, confident, and hardworking man soon found himself in the government’s hands, and he was quickly made a super soldier. When the United Nations formed Overwatch, he became the star, the shining symbol of peace, hope, and justice was none other than Jack Morrison.

 

   He’d always be Jack Morrison to you.

 

   Physically?

   His build hadn’t changed, or at least you never noticed. He was still as strong and as fast as he was when you’d first met him, thought it wasn’t too long ago.

   His scars were no longer flaws on his younger face, but instead became stories and memories. They were signs of battle, of weakness overcome and the strength to rise above. Determination and competence were words that often came to your mind. They, if anything, _accentuated_ his face, at least when it wasn’t hidden behind his visor. He rarely took it off, and even when he did, he tried to keep you from seeing him. No matter how many times you assured him it was okay, that you didn’t mind, he ignored your words of comfort. You still found him handsome, but in a different way than in his golden days. He was no longer a boy, but a man.  
  
   You still found much to like about him. He was different now, but in a good way. He was new, and his personality seemed to run much deeper. He was reinvented, someone for you to explore all over again. He was, to you, fascinating. His sassy attitude and confidence hadn’t disappeared, and you found solace in the familiarity. Though his now cranky mood, bitterness, and somewhat condescending presence had originally scared you away. You somehow convinced yourself there was more to the intimidating soldier than salt. Rejection became an impossibility in your mind, and you refused to take his harsh words personally. You had to learn to love him, the _new_ him. You wormed your way into his heart to find it still filled with gold.

 

   You had found Jack Morrison, and you swore to never lose him again.

 

   But you were losing him now, clinging to hospital bedside as you sobbed into the white sheets. Angela had, unfortunately and regretfully, informed you he had very little time left. You never left his side, sleeping in the chair beside him.

   Angela had told you it wasn’t healthy to be as stressed as you were, but what were you to do?

   You _loved_ him.

   He’d never shown any romantic affection toward you, and you learned to deal with it. Though hopelessly in love, you never once blamed him for the unrequited feelings. You tried your hardest to stay respectful and mature, as well as to move on. You never got along to the moving part.

   You feel his cold hand rest on top of yours, his touch sending freezing, ice cold water through your veins. It was a painful reminder, a heart-wrenching shock.

     
   “Stop crying,” he croaks.

     
   It was instinct to listen to him, so you force yourself to quiet your aching, disconsolate sobs. Your body shakes as the agonizing scene plays over and over in your head.

   It was your fault, and you couldn’t stand it.

 

   You could hardly remember any of it, and you tried not to. It was cloudy, foggy, and he’d said it was better that way. Most of it was blurry, but you can clearly remember the grenade at your feet, and you knew you’d never forget Jack jumping in the way. You knew the sound would never leave your ears, and the sight would never leave your eyes. The blood would forever stain your hands, and the memory would haunt your dreams until the day you died.

  
  
   “Please,” he begs, “stop crying.”  
  
     
   “I’m so sorry,” you whimper, gripping the bedside railing until your knuckles turned white.  
  
     
   “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about,” he snapped.  
  
     
   “You didn’t have to,” you say, your eyes meeting his.

     
   “You could have died, (y/n),” he hisses.

     
   “And I’d rather me than you, Jack. People need you, I need you-”

   
   He scoffs, annoyed.

   
   “I can’t do this, Jack. Not without you, I can’t.”

   
   “And you think I could without you? I’ve lost enough, (Y/N),” he says, clearly irritated. The way he says your name and the ‘you should know better’ look on his face floods you with guilt.

   
   “I’m sorry.”

   
   “Don’t be.”

   
   “I’m sorry.”

   
_“Don’t be,”_ he orders, “you know you would have done the same.”

   
   “It’s different, that’s not the same-”

   
   “How? How is it not?” He asks, raising his voice.

   
   “Because,” you spit, “because I _love_ you.”

   
   He chuckles, and you’re shocked. Here you were, spilling your affection to the dying, ex Strike-Commander Jack Morrison.  
  
   And here he was, laughing at you.

 

   “I know.”  
  
  
_“What?”_

   
   “I know.”

   
   “And- and you never said anything?”

   
   “You always deserved better.”

   
   “Better? Than you?”

   
   “I’m an old man, (Y/N), I-”

   
   “You think that changes anything? God, you’re a fool.”

  
   He is silent, and you can feel the rage bubbling up in you. Your blood no longer ran cold, but _boiled._ Thoughts rush around in your head, your emotions running wild. You felt ashamed, embarrassed. You can feel the warm tears spill down your face and drip from your chin, and you frantically wipe them away.

   
   "C’mere,” he says, patting the bed and scooting over.

   
    You’d slept next to him before, so the gesture wasn’t very odd to you. Whenever you had your terrifying nightmares or there was a nasty thunderstorm, his bed was as welcoming as yours. You’d never thought it strange, but you’d never given it much thought either.

    You somehow manage to pull yourself onto the small bed, and he wraps his arm around you as you cry into his shoulder.

 

\---

 

    He’d quickly fallen asleep, but you knew you wouldn’t get to tonight. You didn’t want to, even. You didn’t want to take your eyes off of him for fear that something could happen, so you lie there, tracing scars as your fingers dance up his arm. You wanted to ask him where they all came from, but you decided to let him sleep. In the back of your mind you knew you’d never get to know.

    You thought it was funny, that even after telling him you loved him, he let you lie next to him. He was comfortable with it, and you found it a bit strange. You’d confessed, but he acted like you hadn’t. You expected rejection, but didn’t receive it. Though you didn’t receive approval, either. You were glad he trusted you, glad he let you see him in the vulnerable state he was in.

    He mumbles, and you lift your head up to scan his face. It was furrowed, and you couldn’t help but feel your anxiety bubble over. Your heart skips a beat as his eyes open, meeting yours.

 

   “Hey,” you whisper.

   
   You notice his breathing change, becoming panicked and shallow. You flinch and move to stand up, but he grips your arm.

   
   “ _Stay,_ ” he whispers.

   
   “Jack, hey,” you stutter, “I won’t leave you.”

   
   His terrified eyes meet yours, and you know it’s time. You scream for Angela, but you know she can’t help. Tears pour from your eyes, your body trembling nearly as much as his.

   
   “You’re gonna be okay, alright? You’ll b-be fine,” you stutter.

   
   You try to sit up, but he pulls you back down. His scarred lips meet yours, and you instantly melt. It was frantic and emotional, passionate and unsteady. Your eyes, once wide with shock, fluttered closed. He tasted of minty toothpaste and smelled clean, fresh and soapy.  You couldn’t help but laugh at how _him_ it was.

    He was gentle, his hand resting on the side of your face as you leaned closer to him. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you finally pulled away, scanning his contented face. You lie down next to him again, his breathing panic-stricken as you mumbled near silent and sweet words to him, reassuring and comforting.

   
   “Breathe, Jack. I’m here, okay? It’ll be okay soon,” you cry, “I promise.”

  
    His hand seeks out yours, gripping it tightly as if he was afraid to lose you, to let you go for the second that could be his last.

   
   “I…”

   
   Your watery eyes fall onto his strained face, listening intently to his whisper.

   
   “love you…”

   
   With that, you watched as he took his last breath. One last, deep sigh as he let everything go. He turned slightly to look at you, his mouth upturning in the smallest of grins as his eyes slowly closed and he relaxed his grip on your hand.

    He was a soldier until the end, fighting for his life until the very last moment. He was ambitious and hungry for a meaning in life, as serving had never quite been enough for him. He wanted, no- _desired_ love, and in the last moments before he slipped into darkness? At the sight of you, your compassionate and teary eyes, your calming expression and comforting grin, he’d finally found it.


End file.
